Revolt for love
by surprisedreader
Summary: America goes to France to ask for help in his revolution. slight Fr/US US/UK


A short little something on the Revoltionarty war. It was bouncing around with me and I had to get it out of my system before moving on to my other smuter stories. I'm not really sure if I liked the way it turned out but. Review and let me know what you think. Thanks!

The first thing France thought when seeing America standing in his office was how startlingly BLUE his coat was. The second was how big he had gotten. Perhaps it should have been the other way around. America's growth spurt was well worth noting indeed. It made the once child quiet handsome actually. Though his spectacular blue eyes were a little darkened with his suppressed anger where Francis preferred them to be that brilliant shining blue that made him look like he was seeing into your soul the boy still looked practically edible. The coat was far more thrilling though. It meant the rumors he had been hearing were true and nothing pleased him more then to know England was about to go to war.

"So…tell me Amérique. What are you here for?" France asked watching amused as the man-boy frowned harder.

"I am going to war with England." The words were clipped. Hard. Well practiced. France could almost imagine the man standing before a mirror saying those words to himself over and over and over until they came as easily as breathing.

"Oui so I have heard, but what are you doing here with moi?" France asked playing dumb eager to eat up every one of this new creatures reactions. It was a rare treat to see a young nation at the beginning of a rebellion. They were always so eager.

"My people wish to seek aid from your own. " America spoke again still in that clipped, nothing but professional, voice. France nodded looking the younger nation over head to toe. The smell of pre-war filled the room making Francis heart race with excitement. He couldn't get enough of that scent. Not when he knew it meant trouble for his longtime rival England. The smell of brand new, from the box, military boots. The fresh scent of a washed, starched, flaw free uniform. The brass buttons on that blue blue coat were even still shinning, the sharp whiff of the polish used to make them that way ticking his nose. The underling aroma of fresh gunpowder. He could even smell the fragrance of soap America had washed in before coming to see him.

France nodded at the other blonds words. "You do know how these promises of aid are solidified don't you?" He asked teasingly watching as the man went tense before nodding once hard. "I do. "

"A price you are willing to pay?" He asked lifting his head making golden tresses fall over his shoulder and down his back. America responded by easing off his coat and looping it over his arm as he finally walked closer before boldly slipping up into France's lap and arm hooked around his head and his thighs on either side of France's hips. "I am." America whispered in France's ear and he had to surpress a groan.

Soon another pre-war smell would fill the room and it was by far France's favorite one. Sex. There was always sex before war, be it from the men about to leave or the nations finalizing a treaty.

France took advantage of the younger nations position and kissed at his exposed neck before making a trail up to his mouth. America kissed him back forcefully once their lips met. It wasn't so much a violent uneducated kiss but more of a not quiet refined skill. The man obviously knew a little of what he was doing but hadn't yet had the right teacher to show him how to best utilize such talent. France had to wonder if the boy was still young enough to flirt with his human citizens. Probably. America shifted gridding their crotches together and Frances moaned loudly cursing in France for the impatience of the young. "Be still boy or I will have to bend you over my table and take you unprepared." America faltered a moment making France laugh.

The older pulled away a little slipping hands up the back of America's heavy linin shirt pulling it over the others head dropping it on the floor with the now forgotten blue coat. "Très magnifique…" He breathed out looking at the sun kissed skin. There was hardly a scar on him. His land was still so new. Still so young. That would change with the war. He mildly wondered if the man knew what he was in for, what he would have to go through to get his beloved freedom. "Amérique…" France spoke up running gentle hands over that newly exposed flesh. He felt America tremble at the simple touch and frowned. "Why do you wish to break away from England?" He asked.

America sucked in a sharp breath. The first sign of weakness since arriving. "My people have the right to be free." The words sounded forced out. Not as easily spoken as the ones announcing his plans of war. France paused a second taking in the youngers tense frame and his little stutters when France trailed his hands down that wide back to the top of his ass. "That sounds a little childish." France replied. "Sort of like throwing tea into harbor. Is this just going to be another small temper tantrum Amérique?" He looked up and met furious blue eyes.

"I am not a child anymore." He ground out. Easy words. Obviously said before. "My people should have the right to grow and expand and trade with whomever we wish! We should not have taxation without representation we are not children! We could run ourselves we do not need a king thousands of miles away treating us like we are just toddlers. And if Arthur cannot see us that way then we will show him by force. " America was shaking with his anger and then it all came together.

"Arthur?" France asked raising an eyebrow at the use of the other nations human name. America flinched like he's been struck. France moved his hands again and felt that shiver course through the man above him. It wasn't form anticipation or simple virgin newness, it was repulsion. This was not where he wanted to be. "Oh I see." He said softly and America obverted his eyes to hid the tears threatening to fall. "You love him. Angleterre…You love him and he doesn't even see how much you have grown. You poor poor boy."

"I'm not a child damn it! I'm a man! A full grown nation!" America yelled his body so rigid France knew it must ache.

"oh mon petite. mon cher garçon doux." (My dear sweet boy) He whispered gently easing America down to the coruk of his neck where the boy started to sob.

"I'm not a child! I'm not! Why c-cant he see me. Why can't he just see that I have grown and I could be his equal…That I could love him." America wailed all clipped tones and rigid stance gone. Replaced with a limp weeping scared alone little boy.

"Oh Amérique…Je suis désolé. Je suis tres tres desole." (I'm sorry. I'm very very sorry) He rocked the boy in his arms back and forth trying to quiet him as he had when he was just a baby. He would help him. Even without payment he would help. He was the nation of love after all. How could he deny someone aid when they were fighting for love? "I will help you show him. He will see you now mon petite. We will make him see you now. " France leaned down picking up the blue coat off the floor and covered America's bare back allowing him for the last time to be a child.

America was wrong. He was not a man. Not yet. But by the end of this war when all those gentle smells were replaced by harder ones of dirt, and sweat, and heavy gunpowder and blood. When the world seemed like it was going to come falling down around them and there was nothing left but America and England and war and misunderstandings and need. There in those final moments where America would either fall back into childhood or stand forever broken. That was when he would join the rest of the nations as a full grown man.


End file.
